D 

640 
,S725 
1917 


IR  SCENES 
I  SHALL 
VER  FORGET 


CARITA  SPINCE 


War  at  Night 


WAR  SCENES 

I  SHALL  NEVER  FORGET 

BY 

CARITA  SPENCER 


THIRD  EDITION 


1917 

PUBLISHED   BT 

CARITA  SPENCER 

10  EAST  58TH  ST. 
NEW  YORK 

PRICE  FIFTY  CENTS 


COPTKIGHT,  1916, 
BY 

CARITA  SPENCER 


All  money  received  from  the  sale  of  this  book  (50  cents 

per  copy)  is  devoted  to  War  Relief.    No 

royalties  or  other  reservations. 


FOREWORD 

The  scenes  and  occurrences  which  are 
recorded  in  these  pages  made  such  a  deep 
impression  upon  me  and  have  remained  so 
vivid  that  I  hope  the  recital  of  them  may  be 
found  interesting  to  others. 

My  sole  purpose  in  publishing  this  book 
is  to  obtain  funds  for  war  relief.  Every 
penny  of  the  proceeds  from  its  sale  will  be 
devoted  to  that  object. 

The  reader  will  note  that  casual  refer- 
ence without  mention  of  names  is  made  to 
a  number  of  individuals  who  are  directing 
relief  work  with  efficiency  and  devotion. 
These  are  only  a  few  of  the  many  I  had 
the  privilege  of  meeting,  and  whose  methods 
of  work  I  studied.  If  any  one  is  interested 
in  sending  assistance  to  a  particular  class 


Foreword 

of  war  sufferers  suggested  by  the  reading 
of  these  sketches,  he  or  she  may  communi- 
cate with  me  at  10  East  58th  Street,  New 
York  City.  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  giving 
the  names  and  addresses  of  those  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water  most  responsible  to 
act  as  distributors  of  such  generosity. 

CAEITA  SPENCER. 
New  York,  1917. 


WAR  SCENES  I  SHALL 
NEVER  FORGET 


Paris,  April,  1916. 

"La  Legation  de  Belgique  a  I'hon- 

neur  de  faire  connaitre  a  Miss  Spencer 

que  Sa  Majeste  la  Heine  la  recevra 

Vendredi    prochain,    28    avril,    a    La 

"Panne,   a   2   heures   et   demie.     Miss 

Spencer  est  price  de  vouloir  bien  pre- 

venir  La  Legation.,  du  lieu  et  de  I'heure 

ou  on  pourrait  la  faire  prendre  a  Dun- 

kerque  ou  a  Calais/' 

FOR  six  weeks  I  had  wondered  where  and 
how  the  door  to  the  war  zone  would  open, 
and  here  at  last  came  the  answer.  "The 
Belgian  Legation  has  the  honor  to  inform 


6      War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

Miss  Spencer  that  Her  Majesty,  the  Queen, 
will  receive  her  on  Friday  at  La  Panne  at 
half  past  two."  My  only  anxiety  was  to 
be  the  decision  whether  the  motor  should 
be  sent  for  me  to  Calais  or  to  Dunkerque. 
At  last  I  could  reply  to  the  ingenuous  sug- 
gestions from  home  that,  being  in  the  land 
of  war,  why  didn't  I  see  something  of  mili- 
tary activity?  Just  as  if  going  to  the  front 
was  like  walking  down  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
I  could  arrive  by  placing  one  foot  after  the 
other.  It  was  midnight  when  the  letter 
came,  too  late  to  do  anything  until  the  mor- 
row, when  I  must  find  the  way  to  break  all 
rules  for  civilians  and  get  out  of  Paris  in 
three  hours  instead  of  eight  days. 

My  official  invitation  was  certainly  a  won- 
derful gate-opener.  Legations,  embassy 
and  war  office  armed  me  with  the  necessary 
papers  in  less  time  than  it  usually  took  to 
reach  the  sub-clerk  in  the  commissaire's 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget      7 

office.  Dressed  in  my  khaki  suit  and  my 
little  brown  hat  with  the  laurel  leaves, — 
funny  little  hat,  since  become  famous  be- 
cause so  many  officers  thought  I  wore  the 
leaves  as  a  presage  of  victory  in  honor  of 
the  Allies, — with  my  small  handbag,  heavy 
coat  and  an  umbrella,  I  reached  the  Gare 
St.  Lazare  with  twenty  minutes  to  spare. 
Ahead  of  me  were  two  English  officers,  shiny 
and  polished  from  head  to  foot,  with  their 
elaborate  hand  luggage  all  neatly  marked. 
One  might  think  they  were  running  down 
for  a  week-end  at  the  Casino.  On  all  sides 
crowded  sky-blue-coated  poilus,  the  faded 
dull  looking  sky-blue  which  blends  into  the 
horizon  and  helps  to  hide  the  French  soldier 
from  the  keen-sighted  Bosch. 

Have  you  ever  stood  by  the  gate  to  the 
trains  and  watched  the  men  come  up  to  go 
back  to  the  front?  Some  come  slowly, 
slouching  along  in  their  stiff  boots  under 


8      War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

the  weight  of  their  heavy  knapsacks  and 
equipment,  tired-eyed  but  determined. 
Others  come  running  up  in  twos  and  threes, 
cheerful  and  carefree.  Others  come  with 
their  wives  and  children,  their  mothers,  their 
sweethearts ;  and  these  do  not  talk,  unless  it 
be  the  tiny  tots,  too  small  to  know  what  it 
is  all  about.  Nor  do  they  weep.  They  just 
walk  up  to  the  gate,  kiss  him  good-by  and 
stand  aside,  and  look  as  long  as  their  eyes 
can  follow  him.  Sometimes  he  turns  back, 
but  not  often.  I  watched  a  while,  then  I  too 
went  through,  showing  my  papers  to  several 
inquisitive  officials  in  succession. 

Everything  was  quite  like  ordinary  times 

until  we  passed  E ,  where  we  lost  the 

last  of  the  civilians  on  the  train  except  my- 
self. My  compartment  was  quite  empty, 
and  as  I  stuck  my  head  into  the  corridor  it 
seemed  as  if  the  rest  of  the  car  were  also 
empty.  But  no,  there  was  a  turkey  gobbler 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget      9 

in  a  wooden  cage,  and  in  a  moment  a  French 
officer  bending  over  him  with  a  cup  of  water. 
It  seemed  the  gobbler,  poor  innocent  bird, 
wras  on  his  way  to  make  gay  an  officer's  mess. 
Soon  we  came  to  what  still  remains  one 
of  the  most  impressive  sights  of  my  trip,  the 
miles  of  English  reserve  camp.  Sand  dunes, 
setting  sun  and  distant  sea,  and  tents  and 
tents,  and  barracks  and  tents,  and  men  in 
khaki  never  ending!  Those  bright,  happy, 
healthy  faces!  Why,  as  the  train  crawled 

through  them,  so  close  I  could  shake  hands 

» 

out  of  the  window,  I  fairly  thrilled  with  the 
conviction  that  they  could  never  be  beaten. 
I  wanted  to  shout  at  them:  "Boys,  I'm  from 
over  the  water  too,  God  bless  you  all!"  But 
it  choked  in  my  throat,  for  they  came  from 
Canada  and  Australia  and  New  Zealand  to 
give  their  lives  for  a  principle,  while  I  came 
from  the  land  "too  proud  to  fight."  (To- 
day, Aug.,  1917,  thank  God,  proudest  of 
all  to  fight. 


10     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

There  were  the  shooting  ranges  and  the 
bayonet  targets,  burlaps  the  size  of  a  man's 
torso  stuffed  with  straw,  hanging  on  a 
clothesline  in  a  row.  The  boys  stand  off  a 
hundred  yards  and  with  fixed  bayonets 
charge  the  bursting  burlap.  But  now,  at 
sunset,  they  are  sitting  around  in  groups 
or  playing  games,  waiting  for  their  evening 
meal.  They  have  not  faced  fire  yet,  but  their 
turn  is  coming  and  they  are  keen  for  it. 

The  officer  and  the  turkey  descended  at 
Boulogne  and  darkness  closed  down  about 
the  same  time.  There  was  only  a  shaded 
night  lamp  in  the  car,  and  the  lonesomeness 
of  the  unknown  began  to  take  hold  of  me. 
The  train  crawled  on  about  as  fast  as  a 
horse  would  jog.  I  was  hungry,  as  with 
civilian-like  lack  of  forethought  I  had  pro- 
vided myself  with  no  lunch  or  dinner.  I  sat 
close  to  the  window,  looking  for  the  lights 
of  Calais  which  never  came.  The  train 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    11 

stopped  and  a  kindly  conductor  with  a  white 
badge  on  his  arm,  which  shows  that  he  is 
mobilized,  helped  me  to  stumble  out  in  the 
dark.  There  had  been  a  "Zep"  alarm,  and 
not  a  single  light  was  visible  in  the  overcast 
night.  I  pushed  along  with  groups  of 
soldiers  into  the  station,  where,  in  an  inner 
room,  an  officer  sat  at  a  small  table  with  a 
small  shaded  safety  lamp  and  examined 
passports.  He  was  duly  suspicious  of  me  un- 
til I  showed  him  the  Legation  paper.  Stum- 
bling and  groping  like  the  blind  man  in 
Blind  Man's  Buff,  I  was  finally  rescued  by 
a  small  boy  who  piloted  me  across  the  bridge 

to  a  door  which  he  said  was  the  G hotel. 

They  refused  to  give  me  food  because  not 
even  a  candle  was  permitted.  In  the  dark 
I  went  to  bed. 

Early  next  morning  I  looked  from  the 
window  on  an  animated  square.  Tommies, 
Tommies  everywhere.  Was  it  England  after 


12     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

all  instead  of  France?  The  Belgian  reforme 
who  will  carry  a  limp  to  his  dying  day  as 
his  ever-present  memory  of  the  great  war, 
and  who  acted  as  my  chamberman,  could  not 
do  enough  for  me  when  he  heard  that  I  was 
going  to  see  his  Queen.  He  spoke  of  her 
as  of  the  dearest  loved  member  of  his  fam- 
ily. She  was  a  real  Queen,  he  said.  She 
loved  and  cared  for  the  poor  and  suffering. 
He  had  even  seen  her  once  and  she  had 
smiled  at  him  when  he  wore  his  uniform  with 
his  croioc  de  guerre. 

The  palace  motor  came  promptly  at  12 :30 
and  into  it  I  got  with  my  little  bag,  won- 
dering whether  I  was  going  into  Belgium 
to  remain  two  hours,  two  days  or  two  weeks. 
I  noticed  that  the  car  had  seen  service.  The 
glass  was  cracked  even  where  protected 
by  wire  netting  and  the  upholstering  was 
threadbare  in  spots,  but  there  was  nothing 
the  matter  with  the  engine,  and  we  whizzed 


I 

War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    13 

along  at  a  goodly  pace.  And  now  began 
what  I  call  the  saluting  habit.  All  the  two 
weeks  that  I  was  on  Belgian  soil  I  was  of 
course  never  unattended,  and  if  any  passing 
soldier  did  not  salute  the  officer  at  my  side 
or  the  official  motor  in  which  I  rode,  I  was 
conscious  of  an  extraordinary  omission. 

We  passed  in  and  out  of  towns  with 
guards  at  attention.  Even  at  the  frontier 
we  were  not  stopped.  The  country  was  flat 
and  the  roads  fearfully  dusty.  The  heavy 
motor  lorries  and  trucks  which  were  con- 
stantly traveling  with  supplies  from  the  base 
to  the  front  interested  me  greatly,  as  they 
were  the  first  I  had  seen  in  action.  They 
came  in  groups  of  three  to  thirty,  and  the 
boys  on  the  drivers'  seats  were  so  caked  with 
dust  I  could  hardly  distinguish  their  fea- 
tures. My  official  motor  carried  a  special 
horn  which  cleared  the  road  of  man  and 
beast.  The  fields  on  all  sides  were  tilled.  I 


14     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

wondered  who  the  workers  were,  when  what 
do  you  think  I  saw?  Forty  children  in  a 
row,  boys  and  girls,  all  ages,  from  the  little 
tot  to  the  boy  who  would  next  year  be  in 
the  army,  each  with  a  hoe.  In  front  of  them 
stood  an  old  man  who  beat  time  with  a  stick 
while  the  children  plied  the  hoe,  and  I  war- 
rant they  had  a  happy  time  doing  it. 

At  last  I  knew  we  must  be  nearing  La 
Panne,  for  soldiers  became  more  numerous. 
There  is  always  one  division  of  the  Belgian 
Army  en  repos  at  La  Panne.  The  motor 
made  several  sharp  turns,  and  as  long  as  I 
live  I  shall  never  forget  the  scene.  Warm 
sunshine,  a  sandy  beach  over  an  eighth  of 
a  mile  wide — small  breakers — a  line  of 
brightly  colored  seaside  houses  and  villas — 
little  sloops  on  the  sea  and  warships  in  the 
distance — cavalry  maneuvering  on  the 
sands — the  dunes  at  either  end  and  behind — 
neat  white  veiled  nurses  and  brightly  clad 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    15 

convalescent  soldiers  on  the  walk  and  in  the 
sands — the  distant  booming  of  big  guns, 
probably  English — and  the  nearer  sounds  of 
practice  rifle  and  machine  gun  firing. 

In  a  small  villa  I  met  the  Queen,  pretty, 
charming  and  gracious,  with  wonderful  eyes 
that  seemed  to  look  straight  through  me  and 
beyond.  We  talked  for  quite  a  long  time 
and  she  asked  me  what  would  interest  me 
most  to  see  in  the  little  corner  of  Belgian 
Belgium.  I  replied  that  I  should  like  to 
see  everything  that  was  being  done  in  a  con- 
structive way  for  the  soldiers,  civilians,  chil- 
dren. With  the  promise  that  my  wish  would 
be  gratified  I  took  my  leave  and  was  then 
escorted  to  the  villa  of  the  famous  Dr.  De- 
page,  where  I  remained  for  a  week  as  his 
guest.  The  hospital  is  a  wonder  of  excel- 
lence in  every  way.  Charming  ladies  effi- 
ciently shoulder  the  burdens  of  the  trained 


16     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

nurse,  and  they  and  doctors  work  hours  on 
end  when  the  wounded  come  in  crowds  from 
the  nearby  trenches. 

At  sunset  descended  an  English  aeroplane 
on  the  beach.  In  a  few  minutes  it  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  couple  of  hundred  men  in 
khaki,  just  as  if  they  had  sprung  out  of  the 
ground.  Then  off  it  went,  gracefully  dip- 
ping in  a  low  sweeping  curve  in  front  of  the 
"palace,"  then  soaring  high  as  it  struck  out 
to  sea.  Then  the  beach  guard  changed,  and 
suddenly  over  the  front  only  a  few  miles 
away  appeared  a  Belgian  plane  with  Ger- 
man shrapnel  bursting  in  little  black  puffs 
around  it.  I  went  with  Dr.  Depage  to  see 
the  wounded  arriving  in  the  ambulances,  and 
I  took  a  thirty  second  peep  at  a  leg  opera- 
tion in  the  doing.  At  dinner — a  very  frugal 
but  good  one — we  talked  of  everything  ex- 
cept war.  And  this  was  my  first  day  at  the 
front. 


a- 

**i. 


it* 


Belgian  Cavalry  on  the  Sands  at  La  Panne 


II 

Trenches  La  Panne,  May,  1916. 

SEVEN  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  I  had 
just  returned  from  the  trenches,  fairly  well- 
behaved  trenches,  but  real  ones  nevertheless, 
for  several  German  bullets  had  sought  us 
as  a  target  in  the  early  morning  mist.  It 
was  all  unreal,  for  I  saw  nothing.  Yet  I 
had  to  believe  it,  for  I  heard. 

Thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  a  gallant  staff 
captain  and  a  charming  gray-haired  general, 
I  made  this  unique  expedition.  The  captain 
and  I  started  before  daylight  in  the  cold  of 
a  gray  morning  and  rode  to  the  trenches  in 
a  comfortable  limousine.  The  fields  about 
were  desolate,  even  the  trees  destroyed. 
Here  and  there  a  heap  of  stones,  the  remains 
of  a  thrifty  farm,  sheltered  a  small  company 

17 


18     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

of  soldiers.  The  roads  were  unspeakable, 
so  deep  the  holes  and  ruts.  We  passed 

through  P .  There  were  still  a  few  walls 

standing,  and  there  we  picked  up  a  piece  of 
marble  to  make  me  a  paper  weight.  I  knew 
the  Germans  were  not  far  off,  for  the  can- 
nonading was  continuous  about  three  miles 
down  on  our  right.  But  for  all  I  could  see 
I  might  as  well  have  been  on  the  western 
prairies. 

"What  in  the  world  is  straw  fixed  up  that 
way  for?"  I  asked. 

"That  is  a  curtain  of  straw  which  stretches 
for  miles  along  the  road  behind  the  trenches 
to  hide  our  motors  from  the  enemy.  A  motor 
means  an  officer,  and  if  they  could  see  us  we 
would  not  be  here  long." 

We  stopped  behind  the  straw  screen  and 
got  out,  crawling  under  it  into  a  communi- 
cation trench.  I  had  better  call  them  ram- 
parts, for  this  district,  you  know,  was  the 


In  the  Trenches  on  the  Yser 


Between  the  Main  and  Front  Line  Trenches 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    19 

inundated  land  of  the  Yser.  One  hundred 
yards  in  this  winding  alley  of  concrete  and 
sand-bag  wall  and  we  reached  the  main 
trench,  a  solid  substantial  rampart  of  con- 
crete, sand-bags  and  earth,  with  the  grass 
growing  on  the  side  facing  the  enemy.  Here 
the  soldiers  on  duty  lived  in  their  little  cub- 
by-holes in  the  wall.  They  slept  in  groups  of 
fours,  stretched  out  on  clean  straw  with  their 
guns  beside  them  ready  for  sudden  call. 
And,  if  you  please,  do  not  suppose  that  these 
domiciles  went  unnamed  or  unadorned.  By 
the  irony  of  fate  the  first  wooden  door  we 
came  to  was  thus  inscribed,  all  in  French, 
of  course : 

Villa  "Ne  Ten  Fais  Pas"! 
War  with  Notes! 
Wilson-Bethman! 

Hurry  up,  you  Neutrals! 
How  common-place  trench  life  has  be- 
come after  these  two  long  years  of  habit! 


20    War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

Nowadays  men  do  not  go  to  the  office  and 
the  shop.  They  go  up  to  the  trenches  for 
daily  duties.  These  trenches  we  were  in 
were  main-line,  where  the  enemy  was  not 
supposed  to  penetrate  unless  rude  enough 
actually  to  break  through.  So  the  soldiers 
portioned  off  the  rough  earth  beside  the 
board  walk  that  ran  parallel  to  the  rampart, 
and  first  they  had  a  little  vegetable  garden, 
and  next  to  it  for  beauty's  sake  a  little  flower 
garden,  and  next  to  that  a  little  graveyard, 
and  then  the  succession  repeated.  Five  hun- 
dred yards  beyond  the  main  lines,  across  the 
inundated  fields  streaked  with  barbed  wire 
sticking  up  out  of  the  water,  was  the  front 
line  trench,  a  rougher  rampart,  mostly  of 
earth,  and  when  it  rained,  oh  mud!  Under 
cover  of  darkness  the  boys  went  out  and 
returned,  walking  across  a  rickety  board 
walk. 

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!    Those  were  sharp 


•3 
•- 


0) 

— 

EH 

I 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    21 

shots  and  sounded  like  business.  They  might 
become  more  personal  than  the  steady  heavy 
roar  of  guns  sending  up  their  smoke  at 

D on  our  right.  We  dared  not  tarry, 

for  the  sun  was  coming  up. 

The  Major  of  the  line  was  waiting  to 
greet  us  and  offered  us  early  morning  re- 
freshment in  his  dug-out.  His  dug-out  was 
a  cozy,  comfy  little  place,  two  boarded  rooms 
in  the  rampart  wall,  high  enough  to  stand 
up  in,  and  furnished  with  a  cot  and  blankets 
an4  some  chairs  and  a  stove  and  a  mirror 
and  some  pictures,  and,  yes,  a  latch  on  the 
door  to  enter  by.  If  I  had  had  no  ears  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  persuade  me  that 
there  were  men  not  far  off  who,  without  per- 
sonal animosity,  would  gladly  have  landed 
a  shell  in  our  midst. 

The  war  as  I  glimpsed  it  in  the  many 
phases  I  was  able  at  least  to  touch  upon 
always  gave  me  the  impression  of  running 


22     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

up  against  a  blank  wall  of  contradiction.  To 
people  who  live  week  in  and  week  out  in  the 
range  of  shell  fire,  life  and  death  take  on  a 
new  relationship.  Death  may  come  at  any 
moment,  and  yet  meantime  life  must  be  lived, 
and  one  can't  live  all  the  time  at  high  pres- 
sure. Perhaps  no  more  vivid  instance  of  this 
came  to  me  than  when  I  was  sitting  in  bar- 
racks near  F as  the  guest  of  that  won- 
derful woman,  Mrs.  I T .  Up  with 

the  dawn,  she  and  her  fellow  worker  slaved 
without  intermission,  caring  for  the  poor 

civilians  of  F .     They  taught  and  fed 

the  kiddies,  dispensed  medical  and  even  sur- 
gical help,  going  out  across  the  fields  through 
the  darkness  at  any  call;  gave  out  food  and 
clothing  to  the  women  who  came  daily  to 
claim  their  portion.  Then,  the  day's  hard 
work  over,  came  dinner,  at  which  an  officer 
or  two,  French,  Belgian,  English,  even 
American,  might  drop  in,  and  afterwards 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    23 

my  hostess  would  sit  at  the  piano  and  sing 
Debussy  with  a  voice  of  beauty  and  volume, 
while  all  the  time  the  guns  would  thunder, 
the  aeros  might  be  overhead,  and  men  were 
being  killed  on  all  sides.  One's  mind  hardly 
grasped  it,  but  one's  emotions  ran  high. 


Ill 

P ,  May,  1916. 

P was  close  by  the  famous  Ypres 

and  had  the  honor  at  the  moment  of  being 
a  bombarded  town.  Hardly  a  day  passed 
that  shells  did  not  fall  here  in  greater  or  less 
quantity.  Have  you  ever  been  in  a  bom- 
barded town?  Gloom?  You  could  cut  it 
with  a  knife,  and  yet  I  could  not  make  out 
why  the  gloom  was  so  oppressive.  The 
streets  were  full  of  soldiers — Tommies,  Ca- 
nadians, Australians — bustling  about,  cheer- 
fully whistling,  talking  in  groups  or  going 
about  their  individual  duties.  Peasant 
women  were  in  evidence  too,  and  the  little 
shops  had  window  displays;  but  oh  the 
gloom  1  Many  of  the  houses  were  destroyed 

24 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    25 

and  in  some  sections  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  a  pane  of  glass  left.  The  noise  of  the 
guns  was  almost  constant. 

I  was  staying  in  a  hospital  with  the  Coun- 
tess V ,  a  front  line  ambulance  in  this 

section  where  fighting  had  been  heavy.  It 
was  an  old  red  brick  building,  probably  the 

home  of  one  of  P 's  wealthier  residents. 

The  high-ceilinged  rooms  were  bare  of  fur- 
niture and  in  its  place  were  rows  of  cheap 
iron  cots  with  a  wounded  man  in  each.  The 
Countess  was  one  of  those  charming,  dainty 
feminine  creatures  with  a  will  of  iron  and 
a  courage  beyond  words.  The  story  of  her 
life  during  the  first  invasion  of  Belgium  and 
her  escape  from  German  territory  was  thrill- 
ing. She  came  to  P ,  where  she  cared 

not  only  for  this  house  full  of  wounded  sol- 
diers, but  worked  and  planned  with  others 
the  support  and  care  of  civilian  wounded, 
men,  women  and  little  children,  and  of  hun- 


26     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

dreds  of  little  orphan  boys  and  girls.  My 
room  was  on  the  ground  floor.  It  had  half 
a  window  pane,  one  boarded-up  window  and 
some  heavy  blankets  to  hang  up  at  night  to 
hide  the  candle  light  from  a  prying  aero.  I 
simply  can't  describe  the  gloom.  The  Coun- 
tess said  that  when  she  felt  that  she  could 
not  go  on  another  minute,  she  just  hunted 
out  the  box  her  husband  had  sent  her  when 
she  got  word  to  him  that  she  had  no  more 
clothes  and  to  send  on  some  of  her  old  ones. 
The  box  contained  three  filmy  negligees,  the 
ones  he  loved  her  best  in.  She  got  them  out 
and  spread  them  about  the  dismal  room,  and 
then  she  stood  in  the  middle  and  laughed  and 
cried  until  she  felt  better. 

I  sat  outside  on  a  bench  one  morning  talk- 
ing to  a  young  Belgian  officer  who  was  so 
badly  wounded  the  first  year  of  the  war  that 
he  will  probably  never  go  back  to  the  front. 
We  were  talking  of  beautiful  things,  music, 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    27 

painting  and  such  like.  One  of  the  ambu- 
lances drove  in.  He  paid  no  attention,  it 
was  such  a  common  occurrence,  but  I  was 
all  eyes.  You  have  seen  the  ice  wagon  drip- 
ping on  a  warm  day?  The  ambulance  was 
dripping  too,  but  the  drops  were  red!  One 
stretcher  was  lifted  out  and  an  orderly  stand- 
ing by  raised  the  cover  at  one  end.  I  saw 
something  that  had  once  been  a  head  with 
a  human  face  on  it.  The  next  stretcher  con- 
tained a  man  wounded  in  the  legs.  One  of 
the  nurses  spoke  to  him  and  he  tried  to  smile. 
The  next  was  carried  without  comment  to 
the  tiny  stone  hut  in  the  fast-growing  little 
graveyard  just  back  of  the  house.  These 
kind  folk  would  find  time  to  bury  him  and 
send  a  picture  of  his  grave  with  a  few  words 
of  how  bravely  he  had  died,  together  with 
the  number  on  the  chain  at  his  wrist,  to 
Headquarters  to  be  forwarded  to  his  fam- 
ily. And  he  was  a  cook  who  had  never  held  a 


28     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

gun  or  seen  an  enemy.  So  they  emptied 
the  ambulance  to  the  number  of  six  and  then 
they  turned  the  hose  on  it  and  started  it  back 
for  its  next  load.  And  may  I  tell  you  how 
the  ever-present  contrast  came  in  here?  Up- 
stairs in  the  convalescent  ward  a  boy,  to 
cheer  his  comrades,  was  banging  the  j  oiliest 
kind  of  music  on  an  old  tin  piano,  impa- 
tiently waiting  the  day  when  he  would  be 
declared  well  enough  to  go  back  to  be 
wounded  again. 


IV 

P ,  May,  1916. 

ONE  of  the  big  hospital  clearing  stations 
for  this  active  point  in  the  English  lines  was 

at  P .  It  was  a  great  big  gloomy  old 

barracks  of  a  building  with  never  a  window 
pane  in  its  many  windows.  After  an  active 
night,  lines  of  ambulances  would  arrive  and 
disburden  at  its  doors.  Generally  before 
twenty-four  hours  had  passed  the  arrivals  of 
that  day  must  be  moved  on  to  the  beautiful 
new  barracks  hospital  near  the  station  or 
direct  into  the  hospital  train,  which  waited 
until  it  was  full  and  then  started  out  for 
the  rear. 

I  went  with  the  young  wounded  Belgian 
officer  to  visit  this  new  English  barracks 


30     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

hospital.  It  was  a  model.  The  head  nurse, 
neat  and  trim  as  though  she  had  stepped  out 
from  a  private  case,  showed  us  around.  The 
operating  room  was  perfect,  three  operations 
going  on  at  once.  I  stopped  to  watch  the 
extraction  of  a  bullet.  Such  sights  were 
always  horrible,  but  the  consciousness  that 
the  man  was  temporarily  out  of  pain  under 
the  anaesthetic  made  it  much  easier  than 
looking  on  when  the  dressings  were  done. 
We  saw  the  kitchens,  the  storerooms,  the 
regular  wards  where  the  men  lay  in  neat 
white  cots,  and  finally  the  receiving  ward. 
That  was  not  nice.  Some  seventy-five 
wounded  had  just  arrived.  Most  of  them 
were  still  in  their  uniforms,  lying  on  cots 
covered  with  blankets,  or  on  the  very  stretch- 
ers that  brought  them.  The  only  sounds  in 
the  long  narrow  room  were  muffled  groans, 
an  occasional  curse,  and  now  and  then  a 
louder  cry  from  some  poor  soul,  even  though 


o3 

*- 

'a 
en 
o 

W 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    31 

he  was  being  handled  by  nurse  and  surgeon 
as  gently  as  possible.  As  we  entered  the 
door  it  seemed  as  if  every  eye  was  turned  in 
our  direction,  and  every  eye  was  full  of  pain, 
almost  the  kind  of  look  you  would  see  come 
from  a  silent  suffering  animal.  At  my  very 
feet  lay  a  six-foot  stalwart  Englishman,  his 
clothes  caked  with  mud,  his  beard  and  hair 
a  tangled  mat.  He  was  doing  his  best  to 
endure,  but  in  spite  of  himself  his  head  and 
arms  thrashed  about,  he  gripped  the  sides 
of  the  stretcher,  he  jerked  the  blanket  which 
covered  him  and  disclosed  one  leg  from  the 
hip  down,  a  mangled  mass  of  clothes,  blood 
and  flesh.  Another,  a  boy  of  about  eighteen, 
sat  on  the  edge  of  his  cot  with  a  face  like 
chalk  and  his  breath  coming  in  quick  gasps, 
while  a  doctor  was  hurriedly  stuffing  a  great, 
round,  red  hole  in  his  back  with  what  seemed 
like  yards  of  the  gauze  packing  the  women 
in  America  are  making.  Another  one  sat 


32 

propped  against  pillows,  his  head  and  face 
completely  bandaged,  with  two  rubber  tubes 
sticking  out  of  the  bandage.  I  felt  so  sick 
I  wondered  whether  I  could  stick  it  out.  For 
some  unexplainable  reason  my  mind  shifted 
back  home  to  a  conversation  I  had  overheard 
not  many  weeks  before.  Two  of  my  friends 
were  discussing  the  merits  of  a  couple  of 
gowns.  One  gown  could  be  had  for  $300, 
but  the  other  was  a  bit  prettier,  and,  after 
all,  it  only  cost  $50  more.  I  suppose  such 
things  have  to  be,  but  I  do  not  believe  they 
would  be  quite  so  often,  if  more  of  us  could 
visit  in  fact  or  in  imagination  the  scenes  of 
Europe  to-day.  It  made  me  think  of  the 
phrase  I  had  recently  heard  spoken  by  an 
American.  "And  so  it  goes!  We  spend 
money  for  things  we  really  don't  need  and 
eat  far  too  much  food — and  they  go  on  fight- 
ing for  everything  we  hold  dear.  Oh,  if  we 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    33 

could  only  show  the  people  at  home  all  that 
we  have  seen — and  what  it  means !" 

Of  course  there  must  always  be  poverty, 
and  there  must  always  be  suffering,  but  the 
ordinary  every-day  physical  suffering  is  not 
that  of  the  strong  and  well,  who,  for  the 
sake  of  a  principle  and  with  almost  super- 
human self-sacrifice,  go  forth  to  be  mutilated 
or  killed.  Nor  is  it  the  suffering  of  those 
who,  through  interminable  days  of  anxiety 
and  oppression,  cheerfully  face  the  drudgery 
of  war-life  behind  the  lines,  again  with  that 
supreme  sense  of  sacrifice  of  themselves  to 
the  good  of  the  state  and  to  the  principle  of 
what  they  believe  is  justice. 

The  young  Belgian  saw  the  horror  which 
I  could  scarcely  hide  from  my  face  and 
smiled  wearily.  "You  think  this  is  awful, 
don't  you?  You  should  have  seen  what  was 
here  last  winter  before  these  beautiful  bar- 
racks were  built.  It  was  January,  fearfully 


34     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

cold,  and  the  rain  had  been  incessant  for 

days.    The  Boches  were  bombarding  P 

so  hard  that  every  hospital  there  had  to  be 
evacuated  and  we  were  all  brought  here,  no 
matter  what  our  condition.  This  place  then 
consisted  of  hospital  tents  with  one  small 
stove  in  the  center  and  no  floor  but  the 
muddy  ground  under  our  feet.  I  was 
brought  here  along  with  eighty-two  others, 
and  we  were  all  placed  in  a  big,  round  tent, 
some  of  us  on  stretchers,  some  of  us  rolled 
in  blankets,  and  some  of  us  just  in  the  mud. 
The  next  morning  I  was  one  of  seven  to  be 
taken  out  alive.  Oh,  we  know  what  the  fel- 
lows have  to  go  through  when  a  big  push 
is  on,  and  we  know  what  the  necessities  and 
comforts  sent  us  from  over  the  water  mean 
in  such  awful  times.  Tell  your  American 
friends  that,  and  how  grateful  we  are." 

We  were  on  a  hospital  tour  that  morn- 
ing, so  although  I  felt  as  if  I  had  seen  enough 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    35 

pain  and  blood  to  last  me  for  the  rest  of  my 
normal  life,  I  did  not  refuse  to  go  on.  We 
stopped  at  the  new  little  hospital  barracks 
for  wounded  civilians,  who  were  being  so 
happily  cared  for,  thanks  to  the  never-failing 

activity  of  the  Countess  V .     It  may 

seem  strange  that  the  peasant  would  rather 
remain  in  his  own  little  home  in  the  midst 
of  his  own  little  fields  and  garden  patch, 
with  the  shells  falling  all  about  him,  than  to 
pack  his  cart  and  move  his  family  to  another 
section.  Yet  it  is  perfectly  natural  when 
you  stop  to  think.  The  whole  world  to  the 
European  peasant  is  the  little  spot  on  which 
he  was  born  and  has  lived.  The  rest  of  the 
earth  is  a  great  and  horrible  unknown  to 
him.  And  then,  what  shall  he  do?  His  en- 
tire livelihood  depends  upon  the  bit  of  earth 
he  owns.  Who  is  going  to  give  him  a  garden 
and  a  house  somewhere  miles  over  the  hills? 
So  it  is  often  only  by  military  force  that  the 


86    War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

peasant  can  be  driven  out  of  range  of  the 
guns,  and  meantime  every  day  brings  its 
casualties.  The  pathetic  sight  of  old  men 
and  old  women,  little  babies,  bright-eyed 
boys  and  girls,  enduring  the  same  suffering 
as  the  soldier,  seemed  so  unnecessary,  but  yet 
there  it  was. 

I  bought  some  pretty  lace  which  the  chil- 
dren made  at  a  little  school  nearby  this  hos- 
pital, and  which  they  sold  for  the  benefit  of 
their  wounded  brothers  and  sisters.  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  such  little  girls  could 
have  done  it,  if  I  had  not  seen  them  at  work. 

We  returned  to  the  Countess'  hospital 
about  sundown  for  tea  and  a  much-needed 
rest  from  the  sight  of  horrors.  That  night 
we  were  guests  at  the  officers'  mess.  It  is 
not  often  that  a  woman  graces  the  dinner 
table  in  this  gloomy  town,  and  so  everything 
was  done  to  make  the  occasion  festive.  There 
was  a  menu  card,  an  artistic  creation,  and 


Nll 


ANDERS 


rx/i 


TcTVCUfce          ! 


fcCw 

3 


?. 


Menu  in  Flaiulers 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    37 

place  cards  and  two  beautiful  wild  flower 
bouquets  for  the  Countess  and  myself,  and 
the  best  wine  that  still  remained  in  the  almost 
depleted  cellar.  After  dinner,  as  usual,  we 
talked  about  nearly  everything  except  war, 
and  yet  I  felt  all  the  time  the  undercurrent 
of  tension.  I  knew  that  some  part  of  each 
one's  consciousness  was  ever  watchful  for 
the  shell  or  aero  bomb  which  might  come 
any  minute.  One  of  their  dearest  comrades 
had  been  killed  on  the  doorstep  of  this  very 
house  only  a  few  weeks  previous. 

Usually  the  arrival  of  enemy  aeroplanes 
is  announced  and  every  one  takes  to  cover. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  custom  to  ring  a  bell  or 
to  blow  whistles,  and  sometimes  a  boy  rides 
through  the  town  on  a  bicycle  sounding  a 
horn  of  peculiar  quality,  which  means  the 
aeros  are  coming.  But  no  aeros  came  that 
night,  and  about  10  o'clock  we  rode  through 
the  deserted,  silent,  narrow,  little  streets 
back  to  the  hospital  and  to  bed. 


Orphelinats,  P. ,  May,  1916. 

THE  next  morning  we  went  on  a  long  ride 
over  the  hills  to  visit  the  little  Belgian  or- 
phans and  see  how  they  were  being  cared 
for  on  French  soil.  As  there  was  no  mili- 
tary motor  available,  and  as,  for  the  one  and 
only  time  in  my  war  travels,  I  was  unarmed 
with  papers  to  get  me  across  the  frontier,  we 
decided  to  do  the  eighty  miles  in  an  ambu- 
lance, where  I  could  hide  in  the  back  as  we 
whizzed  past  the  familiar  sentries.  Mile. 

M ,  in  her  well-worn  khaki  suit  with  the 

Red  Cross  badge,  sat  in  front  with  the  chauf- 
feur. Within  the  ambulance,  on  the  hard 
wooden  bench,  was  I  with  that  wonderful 
hero  of  Ypres,  the  Abbe  of  St.  Pierre.  What 
a  face  of  strength  and  poise  and  thoughtful- 

38 


The  Famous  Abbe  of  Ypres 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    39 

ness  he  had!  To  the  people  of  that  country 
he  was  a  saint,  specially  protected  by  heaven. 
He  seemed  to  have  led  a  charmed  life.  He 
was  the  last  to  leave  the  battered  ruins  of 
the  once  beautiful  Ypres.  They  say  he  saved 
even  the  cats  before  he  would  depart,  and 
still  the  longing  to  return  to  his  beloved 
town  came  over  him  so  strongly  that  at  times 
his  friends  had  great  difficulty  in  restraining 
him.  He  loved  every  stone  and  he  god- 
fathered every  poor  child  of  the  village. 
Shells  have  burst  all  around  him,  killing 
those  at  his  side,  but,  by  some  wonder  of 
fate,  have  left  him  untouched.  His  smile 
was  a  delight,  his  conversation  a  charm. 

Along  the  white,  dusty  road  we  flew,  for 
we  had  many  miles  to  cover  and  several  stops 
to  make.  Every  one  is  familiar  with  the 
beautiful  rolling  country  of  this  part  of 
France,  the  cultivated  fields,  the  neat  little 
villages,  the  white  ribbon  of  road  between 


40     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

the  well-ordered  rows  of  trees.  I  could  not 
resist  waving  a  triumphant  salute  at  the  as- 
tonished sentries  when  they  realized  they  had 
let  pass  an  ambulance  with  a  civilian  in  it, 
and  a  woman  at  that!  But  the  clouds  of 
dust  hid  us  from  view  before  they  could  do 
anything  about  it.  We  passed  through 
B ,  a  lovely  little  town  way  up  on  a  hill- 
top, from  which  we  could  look  down  over 
the  distant  valley  in  whose  heart  the  hostile 
lines  of  trenchmen  fought  for  supremacy, 
We  stopped  here  to  leave  a  message  with 
an  officer  and  learned  that  nearly  every  one 
in  the  town  was  ill  with  a  touch  of  asphyxiat- 
ing gas.  It  seemed  that  the  fumes  had  pene- 
trated this  far  during  the  night,  but  were 
not  strong  enough  to  awaken  people.  So 
they  had  inhaled  unconsciously.  Every  one 
sleeps  with  a  gas  mask  at  the  head  of  his  bed 
in  these  parts. 

We  coasted  down  the  long  hill  on  the 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    41 

other  side  of  the  town,  glorying  in  the  beauty 
of  the  extended  view  before  us.  How  could 
there  be  anything  but  happiness  in  the  world 
that  brilliant  morning!  The  Abbe  and  I 
talked  of  many  things  and  he  told  me  how 
he  and  the  Countess  planned  and  worked  to 
get  enough  money  and  clothing  for  the  hun- 
dreds of  orphans  in  their  care.  If  only  some 
of  the  discarded  but  still  useful  warm  cloth- 
ing of  my  little  friends  in  America  could  be 
sent!  And  think  of  the  untold  joy  some  of 
their  superfluous  toys  would  give ! 

Our  first  stop  was  to  see  the  boys,  and  cer- 
tainly for  me  it  was  a  unique  experience. 
The  Abbe  announced  that  a  great  treat  was 
in  store  for  us,  as  we  were  to  lunch  with  the 

priests  of  W ,  who  ran  the  orphelinat. 

He  told  me  to  be  sure  to  ask  Father , 

the  jolly,  fat,  old  fellow,  to  sing  and  recite 
for  us.  He  said  it  would  please  him  enor- 
mously and  would  give  us  untold  amuse- 


42     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

ment,  and  he  was  right.  We  entered  the 
courtyard  of  an  old  stone  house,  and  after 
shaking  off  several  layers  of  the  white  dust, 
went  in  to  the  bounteous  feast  prepared  in 
our  honor.  The  welcome  was  simple  and 
cordial.  We  washed  our  hands  in  an  old  tin 
basin  and  used  the  coarsest  towel  I  have  ever 
seen.  I  am  sure  it  will  never  wear  out. 
Then  we  sat  down  to  enough  food  for  twenty 
instead  of  six,  and  how  they  did  enjoy  it! 

I  don't  wonder  Father was  almost  as 

broad  as  he  was  long,  if  he  enjoyed  every 
meal  as  much  as  he  did  this  one.  He  ordered 
up  the  wine  from  the  cellar,  the  last  precious 
bottle  he  had  carried  away  from  Ypres,  and 
then,  after  much  persuasion,  he  rose  at  his 
end  of  the  table  and  in  a  dear,  gentle,  cracked 
old  voice,  mouthing  his  words  so  that  his 
apparently  one  remaining  front  tooth  was 
much  in  evidence,  he  sang  the  favorite  songs 
of  his  youth.  I  am  sure  they  were  funny 


§• 


.3 
H 

0) 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    43 

because  he  laughed  at  them  so  heartily  him- 
self. 

Luncheon  over,  we  walked  to  the  boys' 
dormitories.  How  they  did  love  the  jolly 
old  priest,  and  how  glad  they  were  to  see 
the  Abbe!  From  all  corners  of  the  court- 
yard they  dropped  their  play  or  their  fight, 
as  the  case  was,  and  came  running  with  all 
the  joy  of  a  pack  of  little  tail- wiggling  fox 
terriers,  to  throw  themselves  upon  the  two 
men.  Where  he  carried  it,  I  do  not  know, 
but  the  Abbe  produced  cake  after  cake  of 
chocolate  and  every  boy  had  a  bite. 

The  boys  are  taught  all  the  simple  studies 
and  always  to  sing.  The  Belgian  peasant 
children  really  sing  beautifully.  Even  the 
little  tots  can  take  parts.  We  went  up 
through  the  dormitories.  There  were  closely 
filled  rows  of  cots  graduated  in  size,  and 
over  the  foot  of  each  one  the  sisters  in  charge 
had  neatly  laid  out  the  boy's  other  suit,  for 


44     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

to-morrow  would  be  Sunday  and  they  would 
all  be  dressed  up.  The  lavatories  consisted 
of  wooden  benches,  again  graduated  in 
height,  with  tin  basins  and  towels  on  them, 
about  one  to  every  three  boys.  It  made  me 
shiver  to  think  how  cold  that  place  must  be 
during  the  long  damp  winter,  but  then  the 
peasant  is  used  to  such  hardships.  Finally 
we  came  to  the  schoolroom,  where  the  older 
boys  were  already  hard  at  work,  learning  in 
both  Flemish  and  French.  And  of  all  the 
cute  sights  I  ever  saw,  here  happened  the 
very  cutest.  The  tiny  tots,  three  and  four 
years  old,  had  finished  their  lunch  and  their 
playtime,  and  must  have  their  noonday  nap. 
Were  they  put  to  bed  like  ordinary  babies? 
Oh,  no.  They  tumbled  into  the  schoolroom, 
their  big  eyes  staring  out  of  their  chubby, 
round,  little  faces,  full  of  wonder  as  to  who 
the  strange  lady  was.  Somewhat  abashed 
and  very  quietly  they  slid  along  their  baby 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    45 

bench,  snuggling  up  to  each  other  as  close 
as  they  could.  Then  at  a  word  from  the 
teacher  all  the  little  right  arms  went  up  on 
the  long  bench  table  in  front  of  them,  the 
perfectly  round  little  heads  flopped  over  into 
the  crook  of  the  row  of  little  elbows,  three 
blinks,  and  all  the  little  eyelids  closed,  and 
like  peas  in  a  pod  they  were  asleep.  How  I 
wished  for  a  moving  picture  of  that  scene! 

Last  we  visited  the  chapel,  of  which  Father 

was  so  proud.  A  little  musty-smelling 

chapel  with  a  crude  figure  of  the  Madonna 
in  a  high  window  niche  at  one  end.  Father 

had  placed  above  it  a  pane  of  blue  glass, 

of  a  blue  which  turned  the  sunlight  into  a 
wonderfully  cool,  pure  color.  He  said  it 
was  the  emblem  of  hope  to  him,  and  that 
when  his  heart  was  heavy  behind  his  cheerful 
smile,  he  would  come  in  there  alone  to  think 
and  to  pray. 

We  were  in  no  hurry  to  go,  but  there  was 


46     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

still  a  long  stretch  to  be  covered  before  we 
reached  Wisques,  where  the  girls  were 
housed.  So  we  said  good-by  to  Father 

,  his  priests,  and  his  children.  I  only 

hope  I  may  see  them  again  some  day. 

Our  ride  was  now  enlivened  by  the  pres- 
ence of  many  aeroplanes,  friendly  ones, 
maneuvering  now  near  the  earth,  now  so 
high  that  they  were  almost  lost  to  sight. 
They  were  probably  indulging  in  prelimi- 
nary exercises  before  scouting  over  the  Ger- 
man lines. 

Arrived  at  Wisques,  we  were  welcomed  by 
the  nuns  into  the  beautiful  old  chateau,  now 
an  orphan  asylum.  The  Queen  had  recently 
paid  a  visit  here  and  the  whole  place  was 
decorated  in  her  honor  with  colored  papers 
and  garlands  of  leaves  and  branches.  It  had 
been  a  very  great  and  wonderful  occasion 
for  the  motherless  little  girls.  Coffee  was 
served  us  out  of  a  brilliantly  shining  kettle 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    47 

from  the  huge  old-fashioned  stove  in  the 
great  open  fireplace.  Everything  was  so 
spotlessly  clean!  The  nuns  certainly  took 
good  care  of  the  children.  The  girls'  dormi- 
tories were  neat,  here  and  there  brightened 
by  a  piece  of  colored  cloth  or  a  picture  or  a 
bit  of  ribbon.  There  were  only  the  barest 
necessities,  and  none  too  many  of  them.  The 
girls  were  taught  to  do  the  housework  and 
to  sew,  in  addition  to  their  regular  school 
studies.  They  were  all  dressed  in  black  and 
the  Mother  Superior  bemoaned  the  fact  that 
the  Abbe  simply  could  not  keep  them  in 
shoes.  Several  classes  were  assembled  to  sing 
for  us,  Belgian  and  French  songs,  and  finally 
in  my  honor  the  nearest  they  could  come  to 
anything  American,  "God  Save  the  King" 
— at  least  that  was  in  the  "strange  lady's" 
language — English. 

I  wandered  away  from  the  others  and  out 
of  doors  into  the  garden.    There  were  the 


48    War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

real  babies,  most  of  them  just  big  enough 
to  walk.  They  were  digging  and  playing, 
twenty-five  or  more  of  them,  in  charge  of 
a  couple  of  the  older  girls  and  one  nurse. 
I  sat  down  on  a  broken  stump  and  tried  to 
make  love  to  one  of  the  little  boys.  He  was 
awfully  shy  at  first  and  would  just  look  at 
me  out  of  his  big  blue  eyes.  All  of  a  sudden 
he  toddled  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  yard 
and  after  him  toddled  the  whole  bunch.  He 
was  certainly  a  coming  leader.  In  the  far 
corner  was  a  perfect  carpet  of  dandelions. 
Each  baby  picked  one  or  two  and,  like  a 
flock  of  little  chicks,  they  came  tumbling 
back  again  to  present  me  with  the  flowers. 
It  was  too  sweet  for  words  and  the  tears 
came  to  my  eyes.  I  wanted  to  hug  them  all. 
I  asked  the  nurse  whether  this  was  a  cus- 
tomary performance  and  she  said  she  had 
never  seen  them  do  such  a  thing  before.  If 
only  all  the  little  war  orphans  were  cared  for 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    49 

as  well  as  these  in  charge  of  the  good  Abbe ! 
May  money  and  supplies  never  fail  to  come 
to  him  for  this  good  work. 

The  Abbe  took  us  to  see  the  trenches  and 
barbed  wire  entanglements  which  surround- 
ed the  hilltop.  Even  these  many  miles  be- 
hind the  lines  they  were  prepared.  Thank 
heaven  we  feel  sure  that  now  these  trenches 
will  never  see  blood. 

It  was  a  long  ride  back,  and  I  am  sure 
there  were  no  springs  to  that  ambulance. 
How  does  a  wounded  soldier  survive  the  jolt- 
ing even  if  he  is  suspended  on  a  stretcher? 
was  the  question  I  kept  asking  myself,  for 
I  was  sore  from  head  to  foot.  We  arrived 
back  at  the  hospital  too  late  for  dinner  with 
the  others  and  tired  enough  to  go  straight 
to  bed,  but  the  Countess  said  I  must  stay  up 
a  while  and  see  the  "fireworks."  So  we 
climbed  up  into  the  tower,  from  which  we 
had  a  very  extensive  view  over  the  not  far 


50     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

distant  battle  line.  It  is  a  strange  fact  that 
in  the  humdrum  routine  of  war  nowadays 
the  men  stay  buried  in  their  holes  during  the 
daylight,  because  it  is  really  too  dangerous 
to  go  forward  without  the  protection  of 
night.  Then  when  darkness  has  fallen  they 
turn  on  the  artificial  light  and  go  at  each 
other.  In  a  word,  fire  balloons  rise  and  blaze 
their  glare  at  intervals  unceasingly  along 
the  whole  horizon.  You  must  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  or  the  enemy  will  take  you  by  sur- 
prise. And  then  the  flash  of  the  guns  and 
the  trail  of  the  shells.  It  looks  for  all  the 
world  like  a  Coney  Island  display  on  the 
Fourth  of  July  without  the  many  colors. 


VI 

Depot  des  Eclopes,  May,  1916. 

WITH  Mme.  B I  went  to  visit  one  of 

the  military  depots  around  Paris,  where 
every  day  at  sunset  hundreds  of  French  sol- 
diers assembled  to  march  away  to  take  their 
places  beside  their  comrades  in  the  trenches. 
Some  had  been  home  on  leave,  some  were 
just  discharged  from  hospitals,  some  had 
been  given  the  privilege  of  the  convalescent, 
and  an  occasional  one  was  reporting  for  the 
first  time.  Once  a  day  those  called  to  return 
duty  entrained  for  the  front.  During  the 
preceding  twenty-four  hours  they  had  ar- 
rived, singly  and  in  company,  from  all  direc- 
tions, and  had  made  themselves  "comfort- 
able" on  the  rough  straw  beds  provided  in 
the  depot.  They  wore  patched  and  faded 

51 


52     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

uniforms,  often  those  of  their  dead  comrades. 
The  government  had  supplied  them  with 
these  uniforms  and  added  what  spare  cloth- 
ing it  could  and  a  few  inadequate  necessities, 
but  no  comforts. 

Of  course,  we  did  not  go  empty-handed, 

for  Mme.  B and  her  committee  saw  to 

it  that  no  man  went  back  to  the  front  with- 
out his  "comfort  packet" — a  little  package 
containing  a  warm  garment,  perhaps  a 
sweater,  flannel  drawers  or  a  shirt,  a  cap,  a 
muffler,  socks  and  half  a  dozen  useful  little 
gifts  of  small  value,  such  as  razor,  penknife, 
bit  of  string  to  tie  his  shoe,  little  mirror 
to  admire  himself  in,  writing  paper,  ciga- 
rettes, vermin  destroyer,  and  such  like.  We 
loaded  two  motors  with  these  packets  and 
reached  the  depot  an  hour  or  so  before  the 
time  for  the  men's  departure. 

It  was  all  most  interesting.  The  sentinels 
at  the  gate  smiled  a  welcome  for  Mme. 


Officers  of  the  Balloon  Corps  at  Dinner 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    53 

B and  said  the  boys  were  expecting  her. 

We  went  into  the  big,  barn-like  barracks, 
where  blue-coated  poilus  and  khaki-clothed 
colonials  sat  or  stood  about  in  groups,  some- 
times silent,  sometimes  earnestly  talking. 
Others  rested  apart,  examining  their  equip- 
ment and  repacking  their  knapsacks.  Others 
slept  on  the  straw,  while  some  were  buying 
most  unwholesome  looking  doughnuts  and 
consuming  them  without  any  attempt  at 
chewing.  t 

The  bags  of  comfort  packets  were  brought 
in  and  laid  on  a  long  table  at  one  end  of  the 
barracks.  Was  there  a  rush  and  a  push  to 
be  first  served?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  With  quiet 
interest  the  men  waited  to  be  invited  and 
then  came  forward  without  elbowing  each 
other.  Every  man  received  a  packet,  many 
of  which  had  been  made  in  far-away  Amer- 
ica. Just  think  for  a  moment  what  this 
little  human  touch  of  kindness  meant  at 


54    War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

such  a  time.  It  was  not  the  value  of  the  gift, 
though  the  articles  were  often  most  useful. 
It  was  the  spirit  behind  it  which  touched  the 
man  and  not  infrequently  brought  a  tear  of 
emotion  to  his  eye.  He  had  left  home  in  all 
probability  for  the  last  time,  for  no  man 
really  expects  to  return  from  the  trenches 
these  days.  What  a  worth-while  kind  of 
courage  this  almost  commonplace  courage  of 
the  soldier  of  to-day  is  1  We  need  not  imag- 
ine that  he  does  not  think.  He  knows  what 
this  war  means  to  him  and  his.  It  is  that 
ever-present  spirit  of  simple,  unquestioning, 
determined  self-sacrifice  which  verily  awes 

one  each  time  it  is  encountered. 
/ 

With  the  interest  of  children,  the  men  took 
their  packets,  saluted  their  thanks  and 
stepped  aside  to  examine  the  prizes  they  had 
drawn.  It  was  amusing  and  pathetic  to 
watch  them.  The  seasoned  veteran  with  the 
tired  eyes  over  in  the  corner  heaved  an  almost 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    55 

audible  sigh  of  satisfaction.  He  had  drawn 
a  muffler,  just  what  he  needed,  and  the  bit 
of  soap  and  the  very  handy  jack-knife  were 
not  to  be  disdained.  The  boy  near  him  was 
more  or  less  amused  by  his  present.  He  felt 
too  well  equipped  to  need  anything,  for  he 
was  going  out  to  beat  the  Boches  for  the 
first  time.  A  tough-looking,  healthy  fellow 
standing  by  the  table  opened  his  parcel  and 
drew  a  rubber  poncho.  At  his  side  stood  a 
pale-faced  man  with  glasses  and  the  unmis- 
takable stamp  of  education  on  his  face.  He 
looked  longingly  at  the  poncho  and  tight- 
ened the  muffler  around  his  neck.  Then 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  he  turned  to  me 
and  asked  if  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to 
have  one  of  those,  even  if  he  paid  for  it.  I 
did  not  know  where  to  find  pne  in  the  few 
remaining  packets,  and  as  I  hesitated  his 
comrade  turned  and  said,  "But  you  take  it, 
my  friend.  I  can  get  along  without  it.  I 


56     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

have  slept  in  the  fields  all  my  life.  You  be- 
long to  the  city.  Take  it  and  may  it  bring 
you  luck."  That  is  typical  of  the  spirit  of 
the  men. 

The  packets  distributed,  there  remained 
huge  boxes  of  candy  and  cigarettes.  I  took 
the  cigarettes  and  went  among  the  men,  talk- 
ing as  I  offered  them.  I  was  so  eager  to 
understand  their  point  of  view  that  I  per- 
mitted myself  to  ask  a  rather  cruel  question. 
"How  do  you  feel  when,  like  to-day,  you 
are  going  back  to  the  front?"  The  replies 
were  all  alike  in  spirit.  "It  is  our  duty!" 
"We  do  not  think  of  the  future,  but  only  to 
do  our  duty  now!"  "The  Boches  must  be 
beaten!"  "France  comes  first!"  Of  course, 
out  of  the  many  I  here  and  there  received  a 
flippant  answer,  but  the  majority  were  sim- 
ple, direct,  resigned. 

In  one  corner  three  jolly  fellows  were  hav- 
ing a  home-made  lunch  before  they  left. 
They  insisted  that  I  taste  it.  It  was  the  best 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    57 

sausages  in  the  world  that  "la  femme"  had 
made  as  a  parting  gift,  and  wrapped  up  with 
hard  brown  bread.  The  fingers  that  handled 
it  and  the  knife  that  cut  it  were  not  appetiz- 
ing, but  we  made  gay  together. 

I  came  to  a  red-fezzed,  black-faced  son 
of  Africa,  handsome  as  a  Greek  god,  neat 
and  trim  in  his  khaki  uniform  three  times 
decorated.  He  must  have  seen  action  to  have 
acquired  three  crosses,  so  I  made  bold  to  ask 
him  what  of  all  his  experiences  stood  out 
most  vividly  in  his  memory.  He  smiled 
rather  tolerantly  as  he  answered  that  I  would 
probably  be  disappointed  when  he  told  me 
that  it  was  the  dinner  party  he  and  three  of 
his  comrades  had  offered  to  four  Germans 
who  came  during  a  lull  to  visit  their  trench. 
I  looked  puzzled,  so  he  went  on  to  explain. 
"The  trenches  were  so  close  together  we 
could  almost  shake  hands.  It  was  a  pitch 
black  night  and  we  heard  the  Boches  com- 


58     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

plaining  that  they  were  hungry.  We  whis- 
pered to  them  to  come  over  and  we  would 
give  them  a  treat.  It  took  them  a  long  time 
to  get  up  their  courage.  Finally  we  felt 
rather  than  saw  them  coming,  and  suddenly 
they  tumbled  into  our  trench.  We  gave  them 
all  we  had,  and  how  those  fellows  ate!  It 
was  a  joy  to  see  them!  And,  do  you  know, 
they  just  managed  to  get  back  to  their  own 
trench  when  we  had  orders  to  attack!" 

He  had  hardly  finished  speaking  when  the 
bugle  sounded  the  call  to  fall  in.  The  men 
shouldered  their  packs,  heavy  packs  they 
looked,  with  tin  cans  and  paper  parcels  tied 
on  with  string.  The  roll  was  called,  and 
when  the  last  man  was  marked  present  the 
bugle  sounded  again.  No  boomaladdie  pa- 
rade this,  with  shining  boots  and  brass  band. 
Two  by  two  in  sloppy  formation  they 
dragged  their  well-worn  boots  along.  There 
was  a  stoop  to  most  shoulders,  even  to  the 


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60    War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

young  ones,  but  the  spirit  was  all  right.  I 
studied  the  faces  as  they  passed  and  I  tried 
to  realize  where  they  were  going  and  blindly 
sought  to  understand  why.  There  was  a 
smile  of  good-by  from  most  and  perhaps  an 
additional  "Merci  bien,  Madame!"  Or  if 
not  a  smile,  then  something  that  made  me 
feel  the  greatness  of  each  one  of  these  human 
beings,  willingly  offering  himself  a  sacrifice. 


A  Ruined  Church  on  the  French  Front 


VII 

Venetia,  June,  1916. 

STILL  another  front  and  so  very  different 
from  the  others.  After  an  interesting  two 
weeks  in  Rome,  where  I  had  business  to  at- 
tend to  for  our  Committee,  I  received  the 
unexpected  but  welcome  permission  to  enter 
the  Italian  war  zone.  My  first  stop  was 
Bologna,  that  uniquely  beautiful  city  of 
terra  cotta  towers  and  heavily  arcaded 
streets.  To-day  it  is  one  of  the  big  hospital 
centers  of  Italy,  and  I  walked  through  miles 
of  wards  and  studied  surgical  dressings  in 
active  use  in  the  operating  and  dressing 
rooms  until  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  stand  the 
sight  of  another  one. 

By  contrast  my  nine-hour  trip  in  the  train 
last  night  over  the  mountains  was  full  of 

61 


62     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

the  most  restful  beauty  and  romance.  I 
found  a  little  corner  compartment  which  I 
managed  to  keep  all  to  myself  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  pulling  down  the  shades  and 
feigning  sleep  on  the  sofa  when  we  stopped 
at  stations.  I  left  Bologna  at  six  o'clock 
and  for  two  hours  feasted  my  eyes  on  the 
beauty  of  the  lovely  Italian  hills  in  the  set- 
ting sunlight.  Then  the  moon  came  up,  big 
and  round  and  calm.  After  a  while  we 
stopped  at  a  cross-roads.  There  was  a  block 
on  the  single  track  ahead.  I  opened  my  win- 
dow. Not  a  sound  to  be  heard.  My  train 
companions  in  the  other  compartments 
seemed  to  be  asleep.  It  was  just  so  beauti- 
ful, I  drank  it  in.  Then  in  the  distance  a 
tenor  voice  broke  the  stillness  with  a  Nea- 
politan love  song.  Slowly  it  came  nearer 
and  grew  louder  and  sweeter  until  a  figure 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  road.  He  came 
on  down  to  the  track,  singing  all  the  while. 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    63 

I  never  enjoyed  a  Caruso  aria  as  I  did  that 
song  from  the  heart.  Next  came  a  lumber- 
ing hay-wagon  drawn  by  oxen,  a  drop  in 
the  bucket  of  supplies  for  the  front.  Then 
a  special  dispatch  carrier  on  a  motorcycle, 
beastly  sound  which  broke  the  spell  of  beauty 
and  took  me  back  to  the  guns.  He  dis- 
mounted and  silenced  his  machine,  as  the 
train  was  blocking  the  crossing.  Two  other 
men  appeared  from  somewhere,  arm  in  arm. 
The  Italians  never  sleep  and  they  always 
sing.  It  was  not  many  minutes  before  the 
group  had  gathered  together  and  were  giv- 
ing us  a  concert  around  the  ox  cart  in  the 
moonlight.  I  sat  back  in  my  corner  and 
wondered  if  there  really  were  a  war. 

At  last  we  moved  on  at  our  usual  snail 
pace  which  is  characteristic  of  the  trains  in 
the  war  zone.  Also  trains  seem  to  be  always 
late  in  the  war  zone.  No  matter  what  time 
I  started  from  a  place,  I  was  sure  to  land 


64     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

at  my  destination  between  two  and  three 
A.  M.  True  enough,  about  half -past  two  in 
the  morning  we  drew  into  the  station  shed 
at  Mestre,  the  point  where  all  the  gray-green 
uniformed  soldiers  and  officers  descended  to 
return  to  their  posts  in  the  trenches.  The 
train  would  stop  some  twenty  minutes  before 
it  went  on  to  Venice,  so  I  got  out  on  the 
platform,  an  object  of  interest  to  the  many 
soldiers,  as  I  was  noticeably  a  civilian,  a  for- 
eigner and  a  woman. 

Almost  simultaneous  with  our  arrival  a 
hospital  train  drew  slowly  into  the  station 
on  the  track  next  to  ours.  It  came  from  the 
other  direction.  I  stood  in  the  center  of 
the  platform  and  looked  at  my  train  on  the 
right.  Many  of  the  coaches  were  still  filled 
with  groups  singing  and  gay,  buying  fruit 
and  cheap  wine  from  the  shrill- voiced  young- 
sters who  ran  up  and  down  the  platform 
with  their  wares.  Officers  of  importance 
lounged  about,  non-coms  ran  the  length  of 


Shell  Explosion 


Tent  Hospital  in  the  Dolomites 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    65 

the  train  giving  orders.  I  looked  to  the  left, 
where  huge  Red  Crosses  stamped  the  sides 
of  the  light-truck,  third-class  carriages  filled 
with  enduring,  pain-racked  human  beings. 
Here  and  there  glued  to  the  window  was 
a  bandaged  head  with  two  eyes  looking  out 
of  hollow  black-rimmed  holes.  The  band- 
ages were  nearly  always  stained  red.  Even 
though  the  hospital  car  was  but  very  dimly 
lighted,  thanks  to  the  ever-present  aeroplane, 
I  could  see  the  feverish  ones  tossing  about 
on  their  stretchers,  disclosing  bloody  band- 
ages on  arm  or  leg  or  body  as  the  case 
might  be.  As  I  carried  a  special  permit  to 
visit  any  military  hospital  or  dressing  station 
in  Italy,  I  climbed  into  the  train  and  walked 
through  half  a  dozen  cars.  How  I  wished 
I  had  a  hundred  or  so  odd-sized  little  cush- 
ions with  me!  What  a  comfort  they  would 
have  been  to  those  men  who  yesterday  did 
their  duty  to  the  end,  and  who  would  now 
for  three  or  four  days  travel  unwashed,  their 


66     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

mud-caked  uniforms  still  on  them,  in  most 
cases  their  dressings  unchanged,  through  the 
blistering  heat  of  the  Italian  summer,  to  their 
destination  in  Rome.  I  tried  to  say  a  cheer- 
ful word  here  and  there  in  my  best  Italian, 
but  somehow  it  seemed  so  futile.  There  they 
lay  through  no  fault  of  their  own,  alone  and 
suffering  hour  after  hour,  and  there  on  the 
other  track,  with  courage  undaunted  by  this 
sight,  hundreds  more  were  going  north  to 
take  their  turn.  The  physical  side  of  war 
may  be  hell,  but  in  the  moral  side  there  is 
certainly  some  kind  of  divinity. 

The  engine  of  my  train  whistled  and  I 
hopped  back  into  the  carriage.  In  ten  min- 
utes we  had  crossed  the  lagoon  and  were  in 
Venice.  Venice  again  by  full  moon.  Years 
ago  I  arrived  at  this  very  station  at  midnight 
when  the  moon  was  full.  Life  and  bustle 
were  then  everywhere,  and  the  gay-lanterned 
gondolas  were  gliding  up  and  down  the 
Grand  Canal  with  music  and  song  in  full 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    67 

blast.  This  night  the  same  full  moon  shone 
down,  but  the  silence  and  lonesomeness  were 
overwhelming.  After  some  waiting  an  old 
man  managed  to  find  me  a  gondola.  I  got 
into  it  with  my  little  handbag  and  heavy 
coat,  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  we 
moved  slowly  and  silently  up  the  Grand 
Canal,  where  every  window  in  the  medieval 
palaces  was  barred  and  shuttered,  and  every 
branch  canal  and  narrow  passage  deathlike 
in  its  stillness.  Not  a  voice  in  the  Venice 
one  thinks  of  as  always  awake.  Not  a  sign 
of  life  did  I  see  except  the  aero  patrol  on 
the  tops  of  several  of  the  high  buildings,  their 
guns  pointed  skyward,  ready  for  action. 

When  we  reached  the  Hotel  D all  was 

barred  and  closed.  The  old,  stooped-back 
porter,  who  was  finally  aroused  by  the  loud 
pounding  of  the  gondolier,  looked  as  though 
he  had  seen  a  ghost  when  he  opened  the  door 
to  let  in  a  woman  traveler  in  Venice  in  war 
time  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


VIII 

Italian  Front,  June,  1916. 
I  CAME  down  from  the  highest  mountain 
peaks  on  all  the  Italian  front,  the  Dolomites, 

where  General  di  R sent  me  in  his  motor 

to  the  very  peak  next  to  one  occupied  by 
the  Austrian  guns.  For  the  first  and  only 
time  in  my  travels  I  was  on  soil  conquered 
from  the  enemy.  We  could  easily  see  the 
position  of  their  guns  through  the  glasses, 
and  we  were  at  great  pains  to  hide  the  motor 
behind  a  screen  of  trees  out  of  sight  of  those 
evil  guns.  I  simply  cannot  describe  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  that  two-hundred-mile  ride 
through  one  of  the  most  beautiful  mountain 
sections  in  Europe,  over  magnificent  new 
roads,  now  the  pathway  for  man,  beast  and 
food  on  the  way  up  to  the  unbelievable  war 

68 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    69 

among  the  snowcaps.  We  passed  through 
all  kinds  of  camps,  and  I  had  excellent  op- 
portunity to  realize  the  terrific  difficulties  of 
this  front. 

The  following  day  we  motored  down  out 
of  the  hills  and  into  the  flatter  country  be- 
hind the  front  where  the  Austrians  had  for 
the  moment  broken  through.  I  was  honored 

by  being  taken  by  the  Duchesse  d'A to 

visit  a  front  line  hospital  here.  In  a  little 
village  the  stone  schoolhouse  had  been  turned 
into  a  temporary  ambulance.  A  shell  had 
fallen  in  the  yard  the  day  before,  so  the  head 
surgeon  feared  they  might  be  driven  back 
any  moment.  Think  what  that  means  when 
you  already  have  two  hundred  freshly 
wounded  men  in  a  place  that  can  only  ac- 
commodate a  hundred  and  fifty,  and  ambu- 
lances are  arriving  every  half  hour  with 
more.  In  the  operating  room  six  naked  men, 
or  what  remained  of  them,  lay  on  six  differ- 


70    War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

ent  dressing  tables,  each  with  a  red  hole  or 
stump  out  of  which  the  doctor  was  pulling 
red  gauze,,  or  into  which  he  was  poking  white 
gauze.  For  over  thirty-six  hours  without 
rest  these  surgeons  had  been  on  duty.  Is 
it  any  wonder  that  they  could  not  be  over- 
gentle,  that  they  were  sometimes  blind  to 
the  writhing  of  their  victims,  or  deaf  to  their 
groans  and  shrieks!  That  is  a  sight  I  can 
never  forget  and  I  left  it  as  quickly  as  I 
could,  weak  in  the  knees,  and  glad  to  hear 
the  door  slam  behind  me. 

The  next  room  we  entered  was  somewhat 
less  awful.  Iron  cots  were  crowded  into  it 
as  close  as  you  could  pack  them,  with  a 
human  wreck  in  each  one.  They  were  what 
are  known  as  the  "Grands  Blesses,"  that  is, 
the  men  most  dangerously  wounded.  I 
won't  describe  them,  though  the  picture  will 
never  become  indistinct.  As  the  Princess 
entered  every  hand  that  had  the  strength  to 


War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget    71 

move  attempted  a  salute.  She  went  about, 
speaking  a  kind  word  to  each  one  and  tying 
a  little  tin  medal  with  the  colors  of  Italy  on 
their  wrists.  The  two  women  who  were  tak- 
ing care  of  these  two  hundred  or  more  men 
told  me  they  were  not  quite  sure  whether  it 
was  two  or  three  days  since  they  had  gone 
to  bed.  They  were  ladies  who  before  the 
war  had  never  known  what  manual  labor 
meant.  "There  come  moments  like  this," 
they  said,  "and  then  somehow  we  seem  to 
find  the  strength,  but  it  is  awfully  hard  on 
the  surgeons.  Besides  it's  so  difficult  to  keep 
the  men  clean  and  supplied  with  what  they 
should  have  even  as  bare  necessities.  We 
hate  to  see  them  in  dirty,  blood-stained  linen, 
but  what  can  we  do?  Look!  there  come  two 
more  ambulances."  And  all  the  time  they 
were  working  while  they  talked. 

Oh!  we  at  home,  who  are  often  bored  by 
the  daily  headlines  telling  of  trenches  taken 


72     War  Scenes  I  Shall  Never  Forget 

and  lost,  let  us  stop,  think  and  imagine  1 
What  is  our  responsibility  and  how  do  we 
meet  it?  Is  there  really  one  of  us  with  a 
heart  and  mind  who  dares  to  let  twenty-four 
hours  pass  without  dropping  his  mite  of 
time,  sympathy  or  money  into  the  brave  hand 
of  suffering  Europe!  Men,  women  and 
children,  they  need  us!  If  we  do  all  we 
can,  then  we  are  not  doing  half  enough! 
The  horror  of  their  suffering  is  hideous! 
The  magnificence  of  their  sacrifice  is 
sublime! 


9771 


VI 


m 


t  n   ir. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  771  875     2 


